


Reclaimation

by LibidineTertius



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Episode AU: Gwaine, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Generally a Merlin/Arthur Shipper But Gwaine Pointed Out That Arthur Was a Prat, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Smut, attempted non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 02:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17479784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibidineTertius/pseuds/LibidineTertius
Summary: In "Gwaine," Dagr and Ebor (aka "Sir Ethan" and "Sir Oswald") clearly wanted to get even with Merlin as well as Arthur, but we didn't see them do much except make Merlin carry heavy luggage around.As knights with a servant, it wouldn't have been that hard for them to make his life much worse.(I promise, it gets better.)





	Reclaimation

Merlin ached as he bent over, picking up the clothes and gauntlets from the floor. His neck burned as Sir Oswald and Sir Ethan chatted to one another in that maddeningly calm tone as though they weren’t being intentional sadists. But what was Merlin meant to say to Arthur? _They made me move their luggage too many times? Their luggage was too heavy? I don’t know how all their luggage fell on the floor, but it wasn’t my fault? Why should I have to pick up the luggage I dropped on the floor, especially after half of it hit me on the way down?_ He didn’t imagine any of that was likely to garner sympathy. 

“You’ve damaged my bracer,” Sir Ethan accused in a tone that hid malice under its mask of civility. “If you were my servant, I would dock your wages until it was paid off.” As though the cost of a single bracer wouldn’t take Merlin _years_ to pay off. He kept bending down, picking it all up: a goblet, a shirt, a wrapped piece of oilskin. He pushed himself to go quickly, though his back and head hurt from where he’d already been clobbered today.

“Would you?” Sir Oswald asked in an equally relaxed tone. “I usually just take it out on their hide." A dramatic sigh. " _Enough_ , Merlin. You’ve done enough damage for the day.” Merlin looked up and was frustrated to see the man was beckoning him nearer. Great. First the men made him lug about their absurdly heavy luggage, and now they were going to smack him around for not doing it up to their standards. Knights were all a bunch of prats and Arthur was the biggest prat of all to made him serve under these two. Some days he missed Ealdor. “Grab the edge of the table.”

Merlin put his hands up, smiling his most placating smile. “Why don’t I just finish cleaning up this mess and get out of your hair.”

“Not hardly,” Sir Owald said with his brows raising skeptically. “Once you’ve taken your punishment, there’s water to fetch for our baths, a fire to build up, and our clothes to lay out. Don’t shame your master, boy.”

There were times that Merlin wished people could know who he really was and what he’d done. How many times he’d saved Camelot. That he had magic enough to make those candles blaze fiercely up the walls and burn those rich, red tapestries down, trapping these arrogant pricks in this room... But, instead, he sighed and put his hands on the table while Sir Ethan took the pewter goblets away so they wouldn’t waste any wine. It wouldn't be like this was the first time someone had taken a switch to Merlin, though Arthur was usually more roundabout with _his_ punishments.

 _Smack_.

The first blow that landed on Merlin’s thighs was still a shock. Merlin yelped, looking back over his shoulder with his eyes wide. “Oh, relax,” Sir Ethan said, smirking banally to one side. “This is how you punish _children_ , boy. It’s not like he’s really hurting you.” 

_Smack_.

The second blow was too his buttocks. It stung a little, but now that he wasn’t as startled by it, Merlin could admit that Sir Ethan was right. They were hardly doling out the harshest of punishments. It wouldn’t leave a mark. Sir Olwald wasn’t even using anything but his hand though it made his chainmail jingle with each blow. 

_Smack_. 

That blow hurt. It was the angle, more than anything. He was spanking _up_ a bit, so his hand hit as much of Merlin’s arsecheek as possible and sort of… cupped it a little. Merlin grit his teeth and tried not to make any more noises.

 _Smack_. _Smack_. _Smack_. 

Despite the fact that Sir Oswald was just using a bare hand, it really was starting to sting, and the man was being a real prick about it, squeezing the abused skin after each blow. Merlin tried to imagine going to Arthur with this. It didn’t bear contemplating.

 _Smack_. _Smack_. 

Lord have mercy, it was really starting to hurt! He could only imagine how Arthur would laugh at the idea of Merlin being disciplined like a small child, and too frail to take even so the chastisement with equanimity. Merlin could hear the patronizing _Maybe you might ask Guinevere to help you with your chores while your lay in the icy stream…_.

 _Smack_. 

Merlin shifted his grip and realized, awkwardly, that his body was reacting in other ways as well. He’d heard before that some men paid a girl to smack them about, but he’d never tried it. Now it didn’t sound so crazy. Not that he’d _want_ this, but his cock sure seemed to see the appeal. It was rising in his smalls, pressing up against the front of his trousers. He hoped there was some way he could pull his jacket closed when he was allowed to stand up or at least to pull his shirt out of his trousers.

 _Smack_. _Smack_. _Smack_. 

Breathing heavily from pain (and not _just_ pain), Merlin tried, “I’m very sorry I dented your bracer! I will bring it to the smith right away to have it repaired!”

Sir Olwald’s hand stopped smacking, just gripping his ass, pressing in. Sadist. “No. You have a fire to make and water to haul. We’ll summon someone else less clumsy to see to the bracer.” Merlin tried to straighten up, but Sir Oswald wasn’t moving his hand. In fact, he was pressing harder. Merlin shifted uncomfortably, teeth grit. “Be more careful, boy, or we’ll make you really sorry.”

The hand finally moved and Merlin nodded, hunching over as he moved to try and hide his body’s stupid, stupid reaction to getting beaten. “I’ll… just see to that fire then. Maybe you’d…. like to go out to the courtyard and see your fellow knights?” He tried, awkwardly getting over to the hearth while keeping his back to his tormentors. “Sir Darius is here. I'll bet he’d love to see you!” 

He couldn’t see their faces, but Merlin felt uncomfortably sure that they were watching him shuffle across the room with those same relaxed little smiles. Malicious bastards. What had he ever done to them? “I’m eager for that bath,” Sir Oswald drawled. “After all those days on the road. Best get to it, Merlin.”

With them watching him, he couldn’t even use his magic to get things moving without risking their noticing, so he had to do it by hand, carrying the larger logs, the smaller logs, arranging tinder and punk while kneeling before the fireplace. Meanwhile, he could hear the knights shifting around behind him, eating and murmuring between themselves. The hairs on the back of Merlin’s neck rose. While he hit the flint with the steel, he used just a touch of magic to spark the fire a bit faster. He needed to get these chores done and get _out_. The fire roaring, he got to his feet. “I’ll just go pump that water.”

The knights were both staring _down_ at the tent in Merlin’s trousers. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be punished more?” Sir Ethan asked.

Heart jackrabbiting in his chest, Merlin insisted, “Excuse me, my lords.” Bowing a little, mostly to hide the bulge (like it wasn’t far too late for that), he kept bowing his way out of the room.

That had been humiliating, and the thought of now making all those trips up and down the stairs with buckets of water was wildly unappealing. He was sore all over. His hands. His shoulders. His back. His _arse_. And there were other parts of him demanding attention. 

Merlin knew this castle well now, knew the places a fellow could go for a moment’s privacy. Not his own room in Gaius’ chambers; there would be questions if he stopped there. But with all the visiting knights, guest chambers were being opened up and not _all_ the knights had yet arrived. Merlin ducked into one such chamber. There was no water, nor fire, but the bed was made up and aired, and the windows opened to let in a fresh breeze. All in all a pleasant place to spend a stolen moment. 

With a little sigh, he looked around and spotted the rags being used to clean the room. He fetched one, then moved beneath the open windows, enjoying the coolness of the breeze as he loosened his plain leather belt and slipped his hand inside to grasp himself. Who to imagine? He thought briefly of that hand landing cruelly on his arse, rubbing and pressing, but grimaced. Sir Olwald might have caused the erection, but Merlin certainly didn’t want to imagine him. Maybe Arthur? Despite his occasional descents into utter pomposity, the prince could be kind, noble, and generous as well as handsome. But… well, Merlin had tried, in his own fumbling way with all the secrets between them to let Arthur know how he felt as Arthur prepared to go fight the dragon, and it wasn't returned. Arthur was a prince. They 'couldn't be friends.' It made imagining him feel a bit pervy.

He thought, instead, of their guest, Gwaine, chest bare and arm muscles rippling as he leaned back against the wall of his chamber, hands clasped behind his head, displaying himself and grinning while he stared into Merlin’s eyes. He thought of the way that even in the middle of a tavern brawl, Gwaine had basically stopped to chat Merlin up. The short scruffy beard. The hair falling over his right… yes, over his right eye. The muscles of his abdomen. Merlin bet Gwaine wouldn’t push him away if he offered to exchange handjobs once the fellow was up on his feet. Might even be willing to use mouths if they had time and privacy enough. Gwaine had a lovely mouth, a beautiful smile, and the way he stared at Merlin…

Merlin’s hand moved faster on his cock, squeezing tight. A little whimper was pulled out of his throat as he came into his hand and Merlin quickly grabbed at the linen rags, catching the seed in his hands and wiping it away before he’d even stopped shuddering with satisfaction from the little orgasm. Over too fast, this had barely been for pleasure so much as necessity. Merlin’s breaths were still coming fast and he was warm all over, but if he went about carrying buckets, that would easily be explained away. 

With a sigh and a last wistful thought toward the handsome guest that he’d _rather_ be seeing to, he headed down to the servant’s level to fetch a couple of pails before carrying them out to the well. On a good day, carrying two buckets of water was unpleasant. Water was heavier than nobles were willing to believe and it took a lot more strength to keep the buckets _stable_ so they didn’t splash about everywhere, losing half their load. Today, he was already edgy and sore, and it was _seven flights up_. Merlin could have damn well cried. 

But when he reached the room of Sir Oswald and Sir Ethan, they were already half-naked. They were standing before a large copper tub while a scullery maid poured hot water. The maid kept her eyes downcast, away from the knights in only their hose and fancy jewelry. Then she hurried out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her, probably just relieved to escape.

“You took your time.” Sir Olwald’s drawl wasn’t friendly.

Merlin held up the two buckets he’d set down. “I… got water.” Admittedly, after a bit of a… side tour. _Sorry it took me so long. I was sporting an erection after you smacked my bum red and I needed to go take care of it before I could climb stairs a half dozen times._ That wouldn’t go over well. Hoping to move past that conversation, he carried the buckets over, bending to empty them into the tub. He wasn’t precisely shocked this time when a hand shoved at his back, preventing him from standing again, though he was doubly frustrated. Really? Was there anything they weren’t going to punish him for today?

“Grab the side of the tub,” Sir Oswald demanded.

“Oh, come on!” Merlin complained. “I got the water!” But he was going to fall face-forward into a tub of water if he didn’t grab it, so he gripped the metal rim.

“Clumsy _and_ lazy,” Sir Oswald accused, voice low. The underlying threat wasn’t even hidden anymore. Merlin glanced over his shoulder, starting to actually get nervous. What would be the worst that would happen if he ran for it _right now_? Arthur might sack him again. Which… wouldn’t be the worst thing. Except that Camelot really was his home now and Merlin-

-felt the prickle of magic in the air. He twisted a little further and realized that there was something about the pendant which hung from Sir Oswald’s neck. Not just a lady’s token, but something _powerful_ …

A hand grabbed his short hair and Merlin shouted, almost losing his grip on the tub. “Clumsy, lazy, and disobedient,” Sir Ethan remarked. "You should defer to your betters."

The fear spiked and Merlin began to struggle in earnest now. “I should go!” he insisted. “I… need to go see to Arthur!”

_Smack_

“To your _prince_ ,” Sir Oswald corrected.

Merlin’s shoes skidded a little on the stone floor but he couldn’t get free. “Yes! To _Prince_ Arthur! Right!”

_Smack_

There were hands on his belt and his trousers were yanked down to nearly his knees, leaving his arse exposed. His shirt and jacket were shoved up so they covered his head and half his face. Merlin thrashed in earnest, heart in his mouth. He’d thought about buggery before, but he didn’t want it like _this_ , from men who hated him and would use it to hurt him.

_Smack_

“Maybe you should be more respectful,” the knight behind him drawled and the hand in Merlin’s hair yanked him forward. "Keep your impudent mouth quiet." His face was pressed against the covered erection of Sir Ethan. Merlin could feel the magic radiating off him as well, from the pendant only a foot above Merlin’s face. He would grab at it if he could, but he was physically and mentally off-balance, scared by the way they crowded him.

_Smack_

The hits hurt more without his trousers, or maybe it was because he was no longed just irritated but actually growing _panicky_. Sir Ethan was pushing his hose down and Merlin strained against the hand in his hair. Twisting his face so Sir Ethan lost his hold, he murmured, “Binne tófléon” in alarm.

The full copper tub, which had to weight several stone, was flung over onto its side, spilling water everywhere, sending the three of them stumbling. Merlin, half soaked, grabbed at his trousers, pulling them up while he, stumbling, ran for the door. Merlin knew he looked a mess: half-soaked, his clothes barely on his body. But he couldn’t stop to put himself to rights. As soon as his trousers were up high enough to cover the bare minimum, he was flying out the door, running down the hallway like wyverns were after him. People turned to stare, but Merlin didn’t stop running until he was gasping for breath two corridors down. His hands were shaking a little as he stopped to do his belt up and tuck his shirt in. Nothing to be done for his wet boots.

In the narrow servants’ stairway, aware he that was blocking the way, he just headed _down_. It was away. He wasn’t sure where he should go. To Arthur? No, he couldn’t exactly go running to Arthur to tell him that his friends had… No, he was not having that conversation. Arthur would chew him out for not working hard enough. Arthur would think he was exaggerating…. Maybe he could just get to his room? But that would be the first place anyone came looking for him. Maybe he should go into town and find a place to lie low?

As he hurried through the hallway, boots squishing with each step, he was startled to see Gwaine wandering around, apparently drunk. Their new friend was wearing that plain linen shirt that seemed tailored to show off his chest. And was he holding a little white flower between two fingers? “Merlin!” Gwaine looked thrilled to see him and Merlin supposed that seeing to the needs of the prince’s guest might be a reasonable excuse. 

“Are you looking for you room?” Merlin asked, smiling a little. Gwaine was a mess, but he seemed better.

“I _am_ ,” Gwaine agreed, setting a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and speaking with the slow deliberation of the intoxicated. “I am very happy to see you.”

Well, that was nice, even if the man was just a friendly drunk. “Come on, your lush,” he coaxed, taking Gwaine’s elbow and leading him to his room, sitting him down on the edge of the bed. “You know, considering the blood loss, ale might not have been a good idea.”

Gwaine sighed, settling down and pulling at his boot. “I did not consider that,” he enunciated distinctly. “And also did not get half as much ale as I might have liked. The barkeep decided to see my coin first.”

“Bastard,” Merlin commiserated with a little chuckle, his pulse finally slowing. No one was going to come looking for him here. He knelt to help Gwaine get the one boot off and then the other one. When he looked up again, Gwaine was _staring_.

“You,” the man said, “look... um, _terrible_.” He got this dramatic crinkle between his brows. Merlin, absurdly, wanted to press it with his fingers to smooth it out.

“Yeah, well…” Merlin shrugged, doubly conscious of his aches and wet feet and the way he wanted to jump at every little sound that came through the door. “I feel terrible too. Mind if I hang out here awhile? I can keep pouring you water so your hangover doesn’t kill you.”

Gwaine waved a single hand in a manner that was probably intended as a solicitous _have at it_ , but just looked like Gwaine was dancing badly. “Bloody nobles. Stay. Have a seat.” 

Merlin’s laughter was short, but possibly a bit hysterical. “Rather not,” he admitted. “I mean, rather not sit.”

Gwaine’s back drew up, brows risen high. He had such a fascinatingly expressive face. “Would… you rather lie down?” he offered, waving at the bed. Merlin considered that. He wasn’t sure how he was going to find any kind of comfortable position. Maybe on his stomach? But that felt _exposed_. Maybe seeing something in Merlin’s face, Gwaine held up both hands palms out. “I am told I know when to stop.”

“I’m all over bruises,” Merlin complained companionably. “Yes, please share your comfy bed.”

Gwaine flopped over into the bed and made room while Merlin wriggled out of his wet boots. He chafed at his damp feet, lay down, and flopped over on his belly. It wasn’t like he didn’t still hurt, but it was a whole lot more comfortable like this.

An easy silence settled over the room, each half-dozing while Gwaine recovered from his recent stabbing and more recent drinking and Merlin… recovered as well. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Gwaine roused enough to ask, “Is the bed all you wanted?” His fingers touched Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin shifted, startled, and turned his face toward Gwaine. That was a complicated question and he wasn’t sure. He couldn't even discuss with Gwaine _why_ it was complicated. “No,” he admitted anxiously. “Not _all_ I wanted.” The light had dimmed a little, but he could still clearly see Gwaine’s smile, bright against the shadows. 

“Good.” Gwaine had a pleasant voice, and he sounded better, like he’d slept off the drink. “Because there’s a handsome man in my bed, and I’d rather like to touch him.”

Merlin laughed at the idea that he was _handsome_ , but he reached for Gwaine. His fingers stroked against the arm Gwaine had propped under his head. “I’m probably a little useless today,” he admitted. “Sore.” He grimaced to think of _why_. Though he wasn't as sore now. Sleep helped most ills.

“No oil here anyway,” Gwaine murmured and Merlin stilled, understanding. Gwaine meant that he’d like more than a hand or a mouth. As Gwaine added, “Another time, perhaps. How about-“ Merlin was busy considering just what _he_ wanted. He was almost certain that Sir Oswald would have taken him against his will today. Both of them, probably. The fear that created wasn’t gone. And it wasn't as though Merlin could hide in here forever. But if he gave his arse to someone else… it felt like a slap in the face to those bastards. Hardly rational, but it was the best he could do in this moment to defy them.

“There is oil,” he interrupted before Gwaine could say more.

The handsome man stilled. “Really?” He sounded a little nervous too, which made Merlin, paradoxically, feel more confident about this.

“Yeah. Just give me a minute.” A little stiffly, Merlin rolled into a sitting position and got up off the bed. This was probably a bad idea, but his ass wasn’t so sore anymore and he _liked_ Gwaine. In the low table beside the bed was the medicines Gaius had used. And the liniments. Most things from Gaius’ workshop were meant to only be used in very specific ways, but there was also a little pot of oil, intended to keep the skin around Gwaine’s new scar maleable. Merlin turned around, showing off the oil, startled when he saw that Gwaine had rolled over and was pushing his trousers down to his thighs, presenting his own arse. “Uhh…” Merlin felt like he’d missed a step.

Gwaine pushed up to hands and knees, his moon-shaped pendant hanging straight down and- Merlin looked- his cock was hanging down as well. Nothing to be ashamed of when it came to size. “Well?” Gwaine demanded.

Merlin told himself _not_ to be an idiot. It wasn’t what he came here for, and it wasn’t what he thought Gwaine was offering, but he would have to be stupid to turn down Gwaine’s arse. He opened his mouth and said, “Thought you wanted me?”

Gwaine’s mouth dropped open, and he remained there, on his hands and knees with his trousers about his thighs for a few moments longer before rolling to one side. “You prefer the woman’s part?”

Merlin could have died of embarrassment. “I… uh, don’t know.” He’d never tried buggery before. It wasn’t the sort of thing you wanted a reputation for in Ealdor. He just needed that today. And he’d sort of assumed that with a brawler like Gwaine, that Merlin would be the one getting fucked. Now he wasn’t sure why. “I’m sure I’d like it that way around,” he assured, feeling like a right idiot.

Thankfully, despite Merlin’s inarticulateness, Gwaine looked sympathetic rather than exasperated. “You figured you’d try it with me?” He sounded flattered and Merlin supposed Gwaine understood that this was about fondness and trust rather than strictly a matter of passion. “We can do that. Was there something specific you wanted?”

Merlin hovered at the edge of the bed. He was the one with his trousers on and he still felt like the vulnerable one here. “I don’t know. I just want…” He wanted to take away any bastards’ ability to take this from him. Obviously, it wouldn’t be alright if Sir Oswald managed to pin him tomorrow, but they wouldn’t be able to take away from him that his first time had been with a friend. “You know what you’re dong, right?” he added. “How do you think we...?”

Gwaine exhaled. “I think this is going to take us a minute. Put a chair against the door. Then get undressed? I’ll make it as easy on you as I can, but first times can be tricky.” 

“Oh.” Merlin wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he didn’t want to back out now. Getting up to block the door, he wondered if maybe he ought to ask Gwaine whether he was still up for doing things the other way around.

While Merlin was moving around the room, Gwaine had gotten undressed too, and it was… distracting. Merlin did fancy women. He wasn’t _blind_. But Gwaine was all lean muscle and scar tissue and subtle curves. Merlin wanted to touch his chest and thighs. Hell, Merlin wanted to _smell_ him. He stood there for a moment, staring dumbly, then remembered that the beautiful man he was staring at was waiting to have sex with him. Right. Merlin quickly started stripping off his own clothes, a little self-conscious of the differences between Gwaine’s body and his own. But Gwaine called him _handsome_ and offered Merlin his arse… clearly he didn’t find Merlin’s skin legs repugnant.

Limmed in the soft light of late afternoon, Gwaine curled a hand toward Merlin. Leaving his own clothes carelessly on the floor, Merlin drew close enough to touch. “Alright,” Gwaine said gently. “Here’s how I think we’re going to do this. Back to front is a lot easier. But- look, I think on our sides is going to be best for you right now. You up for that?” 

Merlin was breathing a little too fast, but he nodded. “Yeah. Alright. Pretty sure you know what we’re doing a lot more than I do.”

The kiss caught him by surprise. And it wasn't on the mouth, but on the jaw. Gwaine’s beard scratched his skin, but that was nice too. Oddly comforting and a bit arousing. “Alright,” Gwaine murmured. “C’mere.” He helped adjust Merlin’s position in the bed, pulling him close. Merlin squirmed a little as their legs tangled and he couldn’t quite figure out what to do with his arms, but Gwaine kept yanking at his hips and shoulders until they got settled into a reasonably comfortable position. Gwaine wasn’t even pressed very close yet. “You want to touch yourself?” He suggested. “I gotta get you ready, and it’s going to be a lot more fun if you’re already aroused.”

Merlin craned around. “Shouldn’t I be getting you hard enough?”

Gwaine’s laugh had the tiniest edge of hysteria in it. “That is not going to be any kind of problem. Here…” He reached out one oil-slick palm and wrapped it around Merlin’s cock, giving him a few good tugs, helping get everything hard and slick. It reminded Merlin just how long it had been since he’d had anyone’s hand on his cock besides his own. Merlin grunted, surprised anew by what a difference it made that the hand on his prick belonged to someone else. When Gwaine started to pull back, he put a hand over his new friend’s, encouraging him to please keep touching.

Gwaine did, stroking his cock, slowly and bit clumsily while he brought his hips closer to rut up against Merlin's arsecheek. “I’ll try to take it slow,” he promised. “You just need to let me know what I’m doing wrong. Or right,” he added quickly.

“You want me to _talk_?” Merlin had to chuckle a little at that. “Usually people want me to shut up.”

Gwaine stilled a little against him, just breathing. “Yes,” he said quietly, and there were layers in his voice as he confirmed, “I want you to talk.”

Merlin took the man at his word, encouraging him to squeeze a little tighter, to please touch his balls, to keep going. And when Merlin didn’t think he could get any harder, Gwaine took his hand away. Merlin let him know in no uncertain terms that he was a cur and an ass and a tease, but Gwaine just laughed at him. “Please tell me that you didn’t change your mind about letting me have you?” the man murmured against Merlin's hair.

Flushed with arousal and embarrassment, Merlin nodded, shook his head, and clarified, “No, yes, I still want that.” Maybe _more_ now that his body was along for the ride. Then, suddenly a little uncertain for no good reason, Merlin checked, “Do _you_...?”

“Yes,” Gwaine assured, and Merlin could see he was pouring a little more oil into his hand. “Yes, definitely. But I can’t rush this bit.” He spread Merlin’s cheeks a little with one hand. For a moment, Merlin felt downright panicky about the touch, body going rigid as the slick hand smoothed over his pucker, and then Gwaine said, “Honestly, when we met, I figured you as someone who would want to be in charge.” And that was just such a weird thing to say that Merlin’s mind snapped into the present.

“You were thinking about sex when we met?” he asked, gasping as a slick finger pressed inside. It was strange, but not not at all painful. Merlin kept trying to look back at Gwaine. He wasn’t even touching the _'in charge'_ part of what Gwaine said yet. “When we were about to get murdered and you decided to join us?”

“Well, yes.” Gwaine made it sounded totally normal. “You weren’t?” 

The finger was deeper now, moving around. It felt strange, but also sexier than Merlin might have supposed. If this didn’t turn out to be a total disaster, he hoped Gwaine might do this for him again. A finger in his arse and a hand on his cock was likely to get him off in five minutes flat. “I was thinking _This man is utterly mad, but I suppose I like him and hope we can get a drink if- ohhhhh- if none of us die._ ” It was feeling even better now. Whatever Gwaine was doing in there, it was nice. “You’re really good at this.”

“Drinks would have been a nice start,” Gwaine agreed. “I’d have rolled over for you after a fight and a drink.”

There was an ache as Gwaine added a second finger. It hadn’t been any stretch for one finger, but for two, Merlin could feel it. Still not painful, which was a bit of a relief. “Not that I’m complaining,” he panted, “but why did you think I’d be the one rolling _you_ over?”

“I dunno.” Gwaine sounded a little absent. “Just thought you and your friend would enjoy that.” Merlin whined involuntarily at the image of him and Arthur taking turns fucking Gwaine’s arse. Never going to happen, but it was definitely appealing to imagine. “Hadn’t meant to get stabbed.”

“No one _means_ to get stabbed,” Merlin agreed, cock still hard and his hips starting to move against the penetrating fingers. “Are we close? Can you... get in me now?”

“Almost,” Gwaine assured. “Trust me, slower is better.” Merlin made a small, grumpy noise, but let Gwaine set the pace. After what felt like ages, the man pulled out his fingers and shifted his body closer. From the size of what was pressing against his buttocks, Gwaine had been right that being hard enough wasn’t going to be a problem. “Do me a favor and breath _out_ ,” Gwaine suggested. Merlin breathed, and Gwaine shifted around back there, and-

“Ow,” Merlin complained, but without much heat.

“Yeah,” Gwaine agreed, voice a little strained. “First time is usually a little… _fuck_ …” 

Merlin had to laugh, even though the unfamiliar ache went right up his spine. “And you wanted to do this for me? Us?” He did his best to relax, but had no idea how one relaxed their _arse_.

“Hmm. Yeah.” Gwaine shifted a little more. The pressure only increased, and then it started to ease a little. Tolerable, if not sexy. “It’s not for everyone, but it can be good.”

Merlin tried breathing out again. Things shifted around more. Better and better. He reached for his cock, giving it a stroke, which also helped. “I’m alright.” Gwaine’s breath was on the back of his hair and Merlin had the strange thought that he’d like to receive another scratchy kiss.

“Alright,” Gwaine agreed. “Nice and slow first.” He started moving on Merlin, cock sliding deeper, then pulling out. Was this what it was like being a woman? It was kind of good. Weird, but good. Only the angle was a little awkward, on their sides like this.

“Can we move over?” Merlin suggested, reaching back to pull at Gwaine’s hip. Merlin rolled onto his belly, pulling his knees up so his cock wasn’t being squashed. There was a little awkward shifting around, and then Gwaine groaned in a good way, so Merlin congratulated himself on being clever.

Gwaine hips moved faster now, and he began fucking into Merlin harder. Merlin grunted and whimpered and muttered nonsensical things along the lines of _Yeah_ , but was having a little trouble putting more words together. He stroked himself while Gwaine fucked him, his hips moving in counterpoint to the strokes so his arse slapped back into Gwaine every time the man drove in. 

“God almighty,” Gwaine murmured, thrusting a little desperately. “You feel so good. It’s okay? This is okay?”

Merlin didn’t have words to express that _okay_ wasn’t the word and Gwaine was an idiot, so he just grunted, “Yeah,” and kept stroking until he came all over his hand and the bed. Behind him, Gwaine groaned, so maybe he’d felt that, and the strength of his thrusts shoved Merlin right into the bed. Merlin _Ow_ -ed at the collision of the mattress against his sensitized cock, but three thrusts later, Gwaine’s rhythm stammered and Merlin realized this was what it felt like when someone _came in your arse_. He laughed slightly, hysterical, and muffled it against the mattress, aware that Gwaine might take mirth badly.

There was a hand on his arm and Gwaine demanded, “Merlin?” He sounded worried.

“What?” Merlin was a little worried in his turn by Gwaine’s anxiety.

A pause and then, “You’re okay.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Merlin assured. “A little bit _extra_ sore now, maybe, but not in need of medical attention or anything.” He’d have turned around if Gwaine wasn’t still inside him. “Is everything alright?”

Then Gwaine _did_ kiss the back of his shoulder, which did something for Merlin. Merlin _tingled_. “Yeah. Everything… everything is great.” Gwaine pulled out gently and touched Merlin’s hair. “Let’s get cleaned up and decent.” 

Merlin would far rather have just lain there, but Gwaine had a point. Reluctantly, he sat up, feeling new twinges, and reached for cleaning cloths. He watched Gwaine dip a cloth in the wash water and scrubbed his torso. It was a great view and Merlin realized that he might as well stare, because it wasn’t as though Gwaine could _get the wrong idea_ now. 

Then Gwaine slipped the pendant on over his head. It abruptly reminded Merlin of the magical pendants Sir Ethan and Sir Oswald wore. Thinking about them, he felt extra naked. He hurried to get dressed, but he no longer wanted to run. “Something happened earlier,” he admitted, wanting to trust Gwaine despite their short acquaintance. “With two of the knights coming for the tourney. Sir Ethan and Sir Oswald.” 

Gwaine nodded, looking sympathetic. “Yeah?”

Merlin grimaced. “Yeah, but… I don’t think they’re just here for the tourney. Or not planning to play fair? I don’t exactly know. They had these pendants on. Magic.”

Gwaine’s brows rose. Whatever he had been expecting Merlin to say, that hadn’t been it. “Magic is illegal in Camelot. Everyone knows that.”

Merlin nodded, wriggling into his trousers. “I need to go talk to Arthur.” Prat or not, he’d _make_ Arthur listen.

Merlin was almost at the door when Gwaine called out, “Merlin?” He was half-dressed, and tousled. He looked like a man who just had sex. And he looked slightly unhappy. Merlin paused, staring. Gwaine cleared his throat. “Are you… in a hurry?”

He _should_ hurry. He should go tell Arthur so they could figure out what Ethan and Oswald were up to. Those two were obviously villainous. But Gwaine was flushed and his eyes were bright and dark. Merlin stepped away from the door. Cautiously, he drew close enough to touch the ties on Gwaine’s shirt. “Not… such a hurry,” he agreed. Arthur could wait just a little while.

**Author's Note:**

> Merlin- the show as well as the person- tends to ignore the fact that as Arthur’s valet du chambre, Merlin was a high-status servant. Uther really was doing him a solid in the pilot episode. The valet du chambre was basically the right hand man of royalty, privy to the prince’s innermost thoughts. It was a position of serious potential upward mobility.  
> But on Merlin, it’s clear that no one is particularly impressed, so…
> 
> ...I’m not sure why I’m banging on about historical accuracy in a world where they eat pigeon sandwiches.


End file.
